


I'm passionately smashing every expectation

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [12]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton Being Alexander Hamilton, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Asexual Character, Asexual James Madison, Asexuality, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Like a super tiny bit, M/M, Madison is a cinnamon roll, Mild Hurt/Comfort, President Hamilton, Watching the musical, a bit of politics, and so is Lafayette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8740318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: Prompt: "Hamilton, Lafayette, and Madison remember their past lives. Nobody else does. Madison is Hamilton's running mate when Hamilton runs for office, and Lafayette ends up being Secretary of State. Washington is Alex's foster father. Then everybody else remembers. Hamilton, Madison, and Lafayette, like the fuckers that they are, decide not to tell the rest that they have always remembered their past lives. Awkwardness ensues as everybody tries to work out why these specific three people don't remember anything. Bonus if there are musical references (maybe AHam, JMads, and Laf sneaking out to see Hamilton in secret, completely disregarding Secret Service)."aka the reincarnation AU where hamilton is the president that I really wanted to write





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I issued Kira_Gold a [prompt](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/83861701) and then decided to fill it myself.
> 
> To be honest, this idea has been following me ever since [whatever it is, jefferson started it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8309056).

“I never thought I'd say this, but I miss university,” Alexander sighed, collapsing on the couch. “Life was much simpler then. I remember when I met you,” he reminisced with a smile. “Our first class in freshman year. think it was debate. So there I was, looking around the class for someone to sit next to, because I did not know anybody there, and I suddenly saw this small kid, probably the only kid who was shorter than me in our entire year, and I saw that he was wearing glass and I thought, 'isn't that such a typical nerd', and then I sat down and you introduced yourself and I looked at you, _really_ looked at you, and I just _knew.”_

James snickered. “I figured out who you were when you started talking. You had this awkward look on your face, like you knew something and wanted to talk about it but weren't sure whether it'd be okay – which was the first and only time I'd seen that look on your face, to be honest – so you just kept on talking. I swear, you would talk my ear off if given the chance, but then class began and you actually went quiet, though you kept sneaking random looks at me.”

Alexander blinked. “I thought you didn't notice,” he said bemusedly. “But my favourite moment of that class was when I was telling you about the urbanization during the late 18th  century and you went 'yes, Hamilton, I know, I was there, so kindly be quiet because I am trying to think'. Very eloquent, by the way.”

“Your response to that was to blink and go ' _MADISON_?', James snorted. “I sincerely don't think that you have any room to complain about my loquaciousness, Alexander.”

“ _Please_ ,” Alexander shot back, “I can always complain about people's loquaciousness. Now, whether it is justified or not, that is another question entirely,” he wiggled his finger in front of James' face.

* * *

After their meeting, Alexander and James renewed their friendship. They stuck together. While they did not part on the best of terms, James was the only person who Alexander had met who remembered his past life, and to Alexander, that was enough. James seemed to be of the same opinion, and so they decided to take their differences and turn them into a strength. They complimented each other, their viewpoints were contradicting more often than not, therefore they could always argue about an issue, explain each other's opinions, and figure out a solution that would benefit everyone.

They became what they could have been, had Jefferson not walked into the picture. What Alexander and _Jefferson_ could have been, now that Alexander thought of it.

That was the reason Alexander asked James to be his running mate. James thought Alexander was insane, of course. The odds were stacked so heavily against Alexander that it wasn't even funny – an immigrant openly bisexual Latino who was running as an independent. Just the fact that he was running as an independent more or less guaranteed failure – there has never been a president who did not run with the support of a political party. The only independent president had been George Washington, and that was because there were no political parties back in the day (well, until Jefferson pissed off Hamilton and John Adams, which led to a split in the cabinet and, later, in America herself).

Then there was the fact that Alexander was a Caribbean immigrant (some things never change). The law allowing non-natural-born citizens to run for office had only been in effect for the past seven years, and this would be the second election that would be affected. In the first one, no immigrant had been daring enough to run. It just figured that Alexander, the creator of the very law, would be the first one.

* * *

Some things never change. Alexander was born in Nevis. He had, at eleven, survived another mighty hurricane which all but destroyed his island. Fortunately, his parents survived it, and his family moved to America right afterwards. They lived a moderate but happy life, and, for the first time that Alexander could remember in either of his lives, he was truly happy and could afford to experience the childhood he had never really had before.

He should have know that the peace would not last. When he was fourteen, his parents, in a scene macabrely reminiscent of Alexander's favourite superhero Batman, were killed in an alley, right in front of Alexander. A robbery gone wrong, the police later said.

Afterwards, he graduated high school at the age of fifteen, and applied to pre-law in Columbia, his old alma mater, where he managed to persuade the study counselor to allow him to compress two years' worth of studies into one. He knew that he could handle it – after all, he once crammed three years of law school into just over nine months, all the while pursuing independent studies and revolutionizing the economical system (he would do the last one even at the cost of his studies, considering the incompetency and impotence of the Congress).

He was insistent on becoming a lawyer, having the advantage of already knowing most of the American law before he could talk. He only really had to learn the changes done since his death – which there were, unsurprisingly, not many of – and the most recent legal procedures.

Some things did, however, change. For one, his father was actually present in his life. He was not a bastard. He landed in the foster system, and was taken in by the Westchesters. Alexander immediately recognized George and Martha Washington – how could he not? It was not like they were forgettable. Back then, the General was the closest thing he had to a father, and the Lady Washington became a second mother to his dear Betsey.

And now, in a curious twist of irony, they did become his actual parents. Well, foster parents, but he never felt anything but love from the Westchesters, and it never made a difference that he wasn't theirs by blood. The Westchesters did not have any children of their own. They dodged the subject, but Alexander knew that it was because George was sterile. Martha did not have any children, either, George being her first and only husband this time around. As a result, he sometimes felt all but worshiped by the couple.

Martha was a best-selling writer, while George was a doctor. He loved helping people, but he said that he did not have the stomach for politics, all the lying and sneaking around, never being able to be upfront and say what he really wanted to say. Alexander agreed with his opinion of politics, but he knew that he could be the kind of honest, open politician, if he only got the chance. After all, the last time, he made Treasury Secretary.

His goal had always been the presidency, that prestigious position, and he wasn't enough of a hypocrite to lie to himself about the reasons he wanted it. He wanted the prestige of the office, and he had always had a power problem in that he always sought more power and who had more power than the President of the United States of America? He also desperately wanted to prove that he could do it, prove that Jefferson and Madison and Burr and everyone else was plain _wrong_.

 _he's never gonna be president now, Jefferson gloated, and Alexander could not even muster the energy to punch the dickbag because it was his own fault his fault_ his fault

But the main reason that Alexander wanted to become president was that he genuinely wanted to help the American people, and he knew that he could do the job and do it _well_ (unlike _some_ people).

* * *

After a while, people began assuming that Alexander and James were dating, and no amount of denial from either of them could dissuade the rumours. Rule one of gossip: if you denied a rumour, it had to have been true. Rule two: if you didn't deny it, you indirectly confirmed it, therefore also making it true. It did not matter that James was asexual and aromantic, or that Alexander was just _not interested_ in James. Alexander and James dropped the matter and let people think whatever they wanted. “People always talk, so let them,” James once said in regards to the matter.

One day during sophomore year, Alexander was at a local café, typing away at his AP Politics essay. It was due in three weeks, but Alexander liked to stay ahead of the work, just in case. It was also already a page and a half above the limit, but the teachers knew by now to expect this sort of behaviour from Alexander and prepared accordingly.

He was typing away when he was approached by Gilbert du Motier, a classmate of his. They shared sociology and psychology. Gilbert had once been the marquis de Lafayette, though he did not seem to remember. A pity, as Alexander had once been very close to the man, their friendship only surpassed by his relationship with John – who, by modern terms, had been so gay that it was downright amusing. Honestly, Alexander was astonished that historians still debated whether they had been a couple, when the answer is so obvious from their letter exchanges – and that wasn't even taking into account the fact that the published letters had already been censured by his prudish son. John's letters, even more incriminating, had been, for the most part, burnt, also by Alexander's son. It was in moments like these that he missed Philip the most – his oldest would have been bold enough to publish the letters as they were, disregarding the consequences. His beloved Philip had always been braver than his father. He had been everything Alexander had not, the perfect fusion of Alexander and Eliza.

Alexander stopped that train of thought right there. There was no use agonizing over what had been and what had not. Everyone he had know was dead, end of story.

Except not really, because one of his oldest and best friends was standing right in front of him. “Alexander Hampton?” Gilbert asked. He had a bit of a French accent, but not nearly as much as he had when he first volunteered to fight for their cause.

Alexander paused in writing. He surveyed Gilbert. He looked quite different from before. With his darker skin, black fluffy hair tied up in a bun, and fashionable clothes, he seemed to be another person entirely – and yet there was something uniquely _Lafayette_ about him. “Yeah, that's me,” he replied evenly.

“I'm Gilbert du Motier,” the man introduced himself, offering his hand.

Alexander grinned, feigning ignorance. “You're the exchange student, right?” he shook Gilbert's hand.

Gilbert returned the grin. “ _Ouais_ , from France,” he replied, then sat down in front of Alexander. “I've heard a lot about you around campus,” he said by way of explanation. “You are something of a legend at Columbia.”

Alexander snorted. “If it's about that time with a bottle of ginger ale, a package of mentos, and a fire extinguisher, you can't prove that I was involved.”

Gilbert grinned. “ _Non, pas ça._ I simply heard that you are, how you say, very friendly.”

“Cool,” Alexander said. There were much worse things people could be saying about him. “I'm afraid that I haven't heard anything about you, but that could be remedied,” he came to a decision and saved his essay, then shut down his laptop. “I'd like to get to know you,” he said on a whim. “Do you want to go out for a coffee?”

Gilbert smiled. “As a date?”

Alexander darted a finger to Gilbert's nose. “Only if you want it to be,” he smiled persuasively.

“As a matter of fact, I think that I do.”

* * *

They went out on a date, then on another. Alexander introduced Gilbert to James, who remained suspiciously quiet on the matter while Gilbert was there. It was first when Gilbert left that James turned on Alexander and fixed him with a knowing glare. “What are you doing, Hamilton?”

It was rare for them to revert to last names, nowadays, and when they did, it was usually said in an endearing way. It was their sort of banter to relieve tension. This, though, this was not banter. This was a warning. “What do you mean?” he replied pointedly.

“You know that was the marquis de Lafayette,” James elaborated. “How can you be dating him when it is clear that he doesn't remember his past?”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “You wouldn't understand.”

“Why?” James challenged. “Because I'm aromantic?”

Alexander raised his hands in surrender. “It's not that at all. Well, but partially, but mostly, it's just that–“ he hesitated, seeing the look on James' face, “you never shared as intimate a bond with him, with either of them, as I did.”

James rubbed his hand against his temple.“That was rude, but I wouldn't expect anything else from you,” He let out a long breath. “As long as you know what you re doing. And what you will do if– _when_ he remembers,” he corrected himself.

Alexander rolled his eyes. “As if he will remember.”

* * *

It turned out that Gilbert _did_ remember, and at the most inopportune time, too. They went on another date. One thing led to another, and when Gilbert led Alexander back to his dormitory after the date with the intension of 'taking their relationship to the next step', Alexander had readily acquiesced.

What he did not expect was for Gilbert to shut his eyes as though blocking out some terrible pain, then open them, whispering 'Hamilton' against Alexander's mouth as he came.

Alexander grabbed Gilbert's head and forced him to look at Alexander. “Gilbert, are you–?” he tried to form his question, but was strangely subdued.

Gilbert stared at Alexander. “ _Mon petit lion_ ,” he breathed. “I remember you.”

“Lafayette?” Alexander could not thwart the grin that was beginning to adorn his face. “Is that you?”

Lafayette kissed him on the forehead. “ _Oui, c'est moi._ ”

Only then did either of them register their situation. Alexander winced. “Well, this is awkward.”

Lafayette laughed. “Why would it be?” he questioned.

Alexander blinked. “For one, you didn't have any feelings for me before. For another, you never showed any interest in men in general.”

“Ah, wrong on both accounts, _mon ami_. I was slightly infatuated with you, but I saw how you and dear Laurens looked at each other and could not muster any efforts to interfere. And as for your other point, I was very perspicacious. I had to be, France was no more accepting of such transgressions than America was. The king was ruthless when it came individuals' rights; he was even worse when it came to anything he viewed as 'unnatural',” Lafayette made air quotes, his nose twitching in disgust.

Alexander chose to respond by pressing his body against Lafayette's, entangling their legs. “In other words, you have nothing against us continuing this… whatever this is,” he phrased it more as a statement rather than a question.

Lafayette's hand sneaked south. Alexander moaned. “Is that enough of an answer?”

* * *

After that, Lafayette joined their group. James took one look between them and rolled his eyes. “I see.”

Lafayette plastered a grin on his face and offered his hand. “Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, marquis de Lafayette, at your service,” he said courteously.

James shook it. “James Madison, at yours,” he squeezed the hand lightly before letting go. “I heard about you through Thomas, but I had never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

Alexander wrapped his arms around Lafayette's shoulders, which presented an odd picture seeing as Lafayette had several inches on Alexander's 5'6. (Who, in turn, was exactly three inches taller than James, but every time Alexander brought it up, James refused to talk to him for two days.) “So happy to see you getting along, since Lafayette's staying.”

“How joyful,” James deadpanned. “And here I thought that one of you was more than enough.”

“You love us, just admit it.”

* * *

“I want to go see _Hamilton_ ,” Alexander declared out of the blue.

He and James have been working on swaying Senators to vote against the 932, a proposal that would allow gun dealers to sell guns without checking whether their clients had a criminal record. Alexander was firmly against it, and, while James felt that people had the right to own a firearm and be able to defend themselves – the Second Amendment was one of the most imperative, in his opinion, because isn't that what they fought for, the freedom to do whatever they wanted? – he also acknowledged the fact that criminals have lost said right, because the same moment one commits a crime, one also proves that one cannot be treated as a responsible adult and should therefore not be able to own a gun.

James put down his pen. “What does that have to do with stricter gun control?” he asked delicately. With anybody else, he would just declare that they were procrastinating, but this was Alexander Hamilton – James was not sure whether the man knew the meaning of the word 'procrastinate', from what he remembered and had seen in college.

Alexander was the guy who casually took three majors, was the editor of the school newspaper, was president of three clubs, and had a rich social life. James was the guy who kept to himself, scoring straight As in every class, and only argued when he was passionate about something. (Then again, Alexander also only argued if he was passionate about something, but the problem with him was that he was passionate about _everything._ )

James would not rule out that Alexander's non sequitur was somehow related to the 932.

Alexander looked away, blinking rapidly. “Nothing.”

“Why do you want to see Hamilton?” James asked. “It's not even out yet. You don't know if it's good.”

Alexander huffed. “Do I need a reason to see a musical about my own life?”

James rolled his eyes. “No, but it is hard enough to get tickets to any Miranda musical, let alone one so acclaimed and advertised as _Hamilton_. And that's not even mentioning the chaos involving the Secret Service.”

Alexander held up a hand. “One, _I am the president_ , Jemmy,” he waved his finger in front of James' face, emphasizing every word. “One of the perks is that I can get seats at a moment's notice. Two, it would not be the first time I have avoided the Secret Service.”

“By that, you mean 'completely disregarded the security around you',” James deadpanned.

“Lafayette's already onboard,” Alexander continued, paying no attention to James. “My question is, do you want to join us?”

“Do I want to be the awkward third wheel on your illegal date?” James snorted. “No, thank you.”

Alexander scoffed. “Contrary to your belief, it is not a date. I genuinely want to see this musical.”

James dragged his hand through his hair. “Since it's clear that nothing will deter you from doing this, I seem to have no choice but to accompany you as your babysitter.”

Alexander beamed. “I knew you'd agree.”

* * *

The three of them sneaked into the theatre, dressed in jeans and sports jackets, topped with fashionable hats that cast shadows across their features. Additional make-up (courtesy of Lafayette, who laughed in the face of gender stereotypes) hid their identities enough not to be recognized, and really, even without that, who expected the President of the United States to just walk into a Broadway theatre without any fanfare or Secret Service. Actually, the last point was the one that tipped the odds in the favour of them not being recognized, because if people didn't want to see something, they did all to deny it, to the point of directly contradicting empirical evidence.

They had seats on one of the balconies, secluded from the rest of the theatre. How Alexander had been able to get such good seats was beyond James, but in all probability, it had something to do with either his foster father's money or his presidency. Alexander was much better off economically this time around, in light of the Westchesters coming from old money and the both of them having high-income jobs which only increased their affluence.

However he accomplished it, James could not deny that he did enjoy the result.

The show begun, gripping all three of them right from the start. As the songs went on, the mood changed. Alexander wore a bittersweet smile when the actor playing John Laurens appeared, but grinned when the song turned more cheerful. Lafayette was one of the staunchest applauders of the third song. Alexander looked ready to jump onto the scene when the three Schuyler sisters appeared on the stage. He tugged on James' sleeve. “That's Betsey,” he whispered frantically.

James shot him a condescending look. “Yes, she just introduced herself.”

“No,” Alexander insisted. “That's _Eliza_ ,” he reiterated.

Lafayette's eyes widened. “Eliza, as in the original Eliza? Your _wife_?” he asked breathlessly.

“Don't worry, Gil,” Alexander reached over and squeezed Lafayette's hand. “My love for you is never in doubt.”

Something in Alexander's face appeased Lafayette. “ _Mon petit lion_ ,” he pecked Alexander's lips.

James resisted the urge to groan. Barely. “I thought that this wouldn't be a date,” he hissed.

“Jealous, Madison?” Lafayette teased lightly.

“As if,” James scoffed, internally thankful that they had a separate balcony.

The show went by with various short exchanges every now and then. They were all amused by King George III's humorous interludes. When Laurens died, Alexander's eyes teared up but he refused to look away. “Laurens,” he whispered.

James and Lafayette each grabbed one of Alexander's hands in support. Alexander did not respond.

When Jefferson entered, Alexander finally relaxed, even cracking a smile at the ridiculously accurate portrayal of the third American president. James rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time this evening, because that was just _typically_ Thomas.

During the second cabinet song, Alexander shot an apologizing glance at Lafayette. “Sorry about that,” he murmured. “I wished I did not have to do that, but…” he trailed of, wincing.

“Worry not, _mon ami_ ,” Lafayette replied. “I wish you had helped us, but I understand why you did not.”

Alexander kissed him lightly. James steadily ignored them.

When Jefferson, Madison, and Burr accused Hamilton of embezzling, it was James' turn to look repentant while Lafayette looked infuriated. “You did _what_ ,” he growled.

“It seemed logical at the time,” James defended himself.

“He was your friend.”

“Just because I feel affection for someone, does not stop me from seeing their faults,” James retorted.

“No, but it ought to make you stop and consider, just for a moment, whether that person would do something like that.”

“Does Alexander seem like the person who would betray his ideals, his morals, his beliefs, everything he worked for, just for a little money?” Lafayette glared at James.

“… No,” James finally admitted. “I don't know what I was thinking. Or rather, I know exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking that Hamilton had always been successful and that he always seemed to get what he wanted, even when everything was stacked against him, even when he had terrible ideals, downright destructive ideas.”

“You were jealous,” Lafayette summed up.

James winced. “When you put it that way, it _does_ sound bad,” he said.

Alexander watched James. “I forgive you,” he eventually said. “I wouldn't be working with you if I did not.”

James was about to retort that he didn't need Alexander's forgiveness, _thank you very much_ , but the words were stuck in his throat. “Thank you, Alexander,” he said instead.

Alexander flashed him a smile, then refocused on the show.

They all cried at the end of _It's Quiet Uptown,_ and were secretly thankful for Jefferson providing comic relief after such an emotional song. Lafayette even snorted when Hamilton announced that he supported Jefferson over Burr. “I _had_ been wondering why Thomas became president,” he murmured. “I had expected you to endorse Burr instead.”

Alexander shrugged. “What he said,” he pointed at the actor playing Hamilton.

By the end of the show, they were openly crying again, but that was okay because so was everyone else. The cast got standing ovations, of course. Still tear-eyed, Alexander took out his phone and made several quick calls, then pecked Lafayette on the lips. “We have a backstage pass.”

James' eyebrows rose beyond his hairline. “Wow, you really don't do things half-way?” he asked rhetorically.

Alexander shrugged, but there was a smile on his lips.

* * *

They waited until everyone else had left before going backstage. Some actors had disappeared to their dressing rooms to remove their costumes and make-up, but the person Alexander wanted – no, _needed_ – to talk to was still there, coordinating the clean-up and making the rounds around the cast. Alexander approached him. “Lin-Manuel Miranda?” he asked, still in his hat.

“Yes?” Lin looked at him. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

Alexander smiled and took off his hat, letting the lights illuminate his face. “Alexander Hampton,” he offered a hand.

“Mr President,” Lin grinned, shaking Alexander's hand. “I feel like I should bow.”

“I must admit that when I heard about your musical, I did not think that it would have such an impact on me, and yet here I am,” Alexander told him.

“Here you are, sir,” Lin agreed. “You convinced our manager to put you on the backstage list for after everyone else has left. Well, you and your two companions,” he cast a look at James, who was calmly talking to the actor who played Aaron Burr (and really, Alexander had to admit that he got Burr down to a tee), and Lafayette, who was jumping up and down with enthusiasm as he talked to Daveed Diggs, the other man just as excited to talk to Lafayette as Lafayette had been to meet Diggs. Alexander didn't know what Lafayette had told Daveed, but he seemed happy enough.

He returned to the conversation with his doppelgänger. “To understand the full impact that your show has had on me, you should know that I am a reincarnate,” Alexander explained.

Lin quirked an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked excitedly. “Who were you?” a smile lingered on his lips as though he had begun to suspect an answer but was not ready to begin hoping lest his intuition turns out to be wrong.

“Alexander Hamilton,” Alexander quoted, watching as Lin's eyes widened. “My name is Alexander Hamilton.”

"Correction: it _was_ ," James said as he came up to the two of them. “Have you seen our favourite fighting Frenchman?” he asked.

Just then, a voice spoke up. “Oooh, is this turning into a quote-off?” Lafayette said, leaning against Alexander. “Because I want in. _Crains moi_. The name is Gilbert du Motier, by the way,” he offered his hand to Lin, who shook it enthusiastically and, honest to God, _bowed_.

“Are you who I think you are?”

James scrunched up his nose. “Now, don't do that, Mr Miranda,” he advised sternly. “He has a big enough ego as it is.”

Lin studied Alexander intensely. Alexander returned the favour. Lin spoke first. “At the risk of sounding disbelieving, are you really Alexander Hamilton?”

Alexander grinned. “Really _really_.”

“I never thought I would get the opportunity to actually talk to Alexander Hamilton, let alone hear him reference _Shrek_ ,” Lin said excitedly.

“I really want to thank you for all the effort you put into this,” Alexander waved his hand, gesturing at the scene, the actors, the props, the costumes, the organized chaos around them.

“Thank you. I was, and still am, really enthusiastic about this,” Lin admitted, blushing a bit.

“It shows,” James said. “In a good way.”

Lin turned to look at the vice president. “Now, since our president has turned out to be Alexander Hamilton, and my amazing deductive reasoning says that you are the marquis de Lafayette,” he pointed at Lafayette, “who are you?” he asked James.

James studied Lin, then came to a decision. “James Madison,” he introduced himself, extending a hand.

Lin looked to be roughly three seconds away from a freak-out. “Lin-Manuel Miranda,” he returned the favour. “I must be dreaming,” he murmured.

“I can assure you, Mr Miranda, that you are not.”

Just then, Daveed came bouncing and knocked into Lin. “Lin, man, you'll never believe who–“ he broke off as he saw whom Lin has been talking with. “Actually, you might. Daveed Diggs,” he offered his hand to the person closest to him, which, incidentally, was James.

“James Morrow. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Alexander Hampton. I've got to say, you nailed both characters.”

“Thank you,” Daveed grinned. “Are you reincarnates?”

Alexander tilted his head. “You've been talking to my State Secretary, haven't you?” he said, not without amusement.

“Maybe,” Daveed admitted sheepishly.

“James Madison, but I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself,” James said, to which Daveed nodded in acquiescence.

“Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, the marquis de Lafayette,” Lafayette added.

“Alexander Hamilton.”

Daveed stared, then grinned and began humming the melody from _The Reynolds Pamphlet_ , if Alexander remembered his music (and he usually did). Alexander could not help himself: he laughed. “Well, I am the president now, therefore I can say with certainty that Jefferson has been disproved on that point,” he chuckled.

* * *

The five retired to Lin's dressing room, for the simple reason that, since he did not share the room with anyone, they would be afforded privacy. They spent the next hour or so talking about literally everything – from the trio's past lives, how it feels to be at the helm of the country, to what really inspired the musical, how long it has been in the makings etc.. At one point, a guy dropped by, casually leaning against the door frame. “See you tomorrow, Lin.”

Lin shot the man a grin. “See you later, Jon.”

After the man left, Alexander frowned thoughtfully. “That wouldn't happen to have been Jonathan Groff?” he asked.

Lin tilted his head. “Yeah, what about it?” he asked cautiously. “Because if this is about him being gay, then it's–“

“No, not at all,” Alexander was quick to refute. “I'm openly bisexual, and had been even in my past life. Well," he amended with a wince, "not _openly_ bisexual, but definitely bisexual. There just hadn't been a term for it. I don't imagine that you have missed my letters to John Laurens, seeing as how much subtext you managed to wordlessly include in the show.”

Lin whooped. “I knew it!” he exclaimed. “Chernow owes me twenty bucks.”

The four men stared at Lin. “You _made a bet_ as to whether I was sleeping with John Laurens?” he asked incredulously.

Lin shrugged. “Historians have to amuse themselves _somehow_ ,” he said by way of explanation. “These kinds of bets very rarely get settled, you know – I don't think I need to remind you of how statistically unlikely reincarnation is, let alone how few people actually believe in them. Which, by the way, is what makes it so amazing that you three found yourselves.”

“And you want to know how,” Alexander guessed, to which both Lin and Daveed nodded vigorously. “Well, Jemmy and I met at our first college class in freshman year. I met Laf at a café a year later.”

Lafayette's phone suddenly binged. He took it out and skimmed through the text message, then swore profusely. James shot him a quizzical look. “We need to get going,” Lafayette said by way of explanation. “Allison says that people are beginning to look for you.”

“Allison?” Daveed furrowed his brows.

“Allison Drawwood, Secretary of the Treasury,” Alexander explained. “I was her attorney when she divorced her husband a few years back. She proved herself to be a financial genius, and, well, we kept in touch ever since. When I had to find a Treasury Secretary, she was pretty much the only person I considered.”

Daveed snickered. “That's high praise, coming from the first Treasury Secretary,” he responded.

Alexander stood up, then looked at Lin and Daveed. “I would just like to ask one thing of you: don't publish any selfies. Technically, I'm currently supposed to be at the White House,” he explained with a wince. “The Secret Service doesn't know that I am here, and I would like for it to stay that way.”

“Of course,” Lin promised at once. “You are one bad boy,” he wiggled his eyebrows, then sobered up. “As long as you promise that we can do a show at the White House one day, so that I can officially meet you.”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” Alexander returned the smile.

* * *

“You didn't talk to Eliza,” James remarked as they left the theatre, disguises in place.

Alexander did not answer for a long moment. Just as James lost any hope of getting an explanation, Alexander murmured, “I don't think I can handle talking to her and knowing that she doesn't remember me.”

James did not know how to respond to that. He squeezed Alexander's hand instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone else will come into this soon enough, I swear.
> 
> History fact: [in 1791, France became the first West European country to decriminalize homosexual acts between consenting adults (by which I mean people around 11 years old), which directly contradicts what I wrote. The sponsor of the code, Louis-Michel le Peletier, presented it to the Constituent Assembly, saying that only "true crimes" ought to be punished, not the artificial offenses condemned by "superstition".](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Penal_Code_of_1791)
> 
> Just in case you wanted to base your 'Homosexuality In 18th Century France 101' essay on this fic.
> 
> Does anyone recognize Allison Drawwood? You should, but don't worry if you don't. Here's a clue: search at the beginning.
> 
> Update: the next part is up!


End file.
